


Definitely the Fourth Kind

by Capzi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Coming Untouched, Masturbation, Mentions of Sam/Amelia, Other, Sex Toys, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-05 12:55:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4180605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capzi/pseuds/Capzi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It was big, black, and utterly beautiful. Hefty enough to need a freakin’ handle, crowned with a blunt tip the package bragged was over seven inches in diameter. Smooth silicone and ten vibrating patterns. </p><p>To top it all off, the toy boasted the most compelling evidence Sam had ever seen for the universe having a sense of humor. Written in bold letter across the box was the name of the monstrosity: The Colt."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Definitely the Fourth Kind

**Author's Note:**

> **"You better run, man. I think the fourth kind is a butt thing."  
> **  
>  -Sam Winchester, 'Clap Your Hands if You Believe...' ****

* * *

 

            Curls of steam wafted near his feet and condensation beaded his neck and chest as Sam left the bathroom. It had been a long day of driving after a long day of stabbing gooey things, but his muscles felt pleasantly loose from the warmth of his shower. There _was_ a lot to be said for that marvelous water pressure.

            The bunker’s heating system was shaky on its best days and miserable on its worst, yet the shivery goosebumps raised over his skin had little to do with the chilly air. Reaching his own bedroom door, Sam paused to readjust the towel at his hips. He couldn’t help but smile.

            Teasing strokes in the shower had left his cock hot and interested. It prodded against the damp terrycloth as he stepped into the room and let the door close with a reassuring thud. Dean had spent the evening batting not-so-subtle bedroom eyes at Cas, broadcasting their own plans for a private night in, but Sam relished in the feeling of secrecy. His room may have been lacking in homey touches, but it wasn’t a decaying motel bathroom or the top bunk in a cramped dorm.

            Here, he could be generous with his alone time.

            Treat himself.

            Sam moved almost dream-like about the room gathering supplies, swaying his hips gently against the towel, even surprising himself by humming under his breath. His whole body seemed to thrum with expectation as he settled into the pillows against the headboard, his cock making a soft bugle now under the towel. Sam staved off his reckless instincts to touch and instead closed his eyes to run his right hand up and down his hip.

            The contrast between warm fabric and his own, warmer skin was frustrating and sexy and sent electricity dancing up his spine. His other hand kneaded the tense cords where his shoulder met his neck, dewy under his hair, before moving on to explore the smooth planes of his chest and abs. He let himself enjoy his body, chasing away the last of the goosebumps and reveling in the feel of muscle working in his biceps and hands and throat and stomach. He traced the v-shaped dip of his groin, nudging the towel down slightly to finish, and his cock throbbed urgently in response.

            Slowly, he undid the towel and let the ends fall to the sides of his body, like unwrapping a present. It was necessary to keep it under his hips for later, and the thought of _why_ caused another pleasurable shiver to break out across Sam’s skin.

            Fully hard now, he went back to long, leisurely strokes over his cock. A whine crawled at the back of his throat at the unsatisfying touch, just a bit too dry, and he reached for the bottle of lube without looking. It had taken Sam months to discover this particular brand (at Wal-Greens, of all places in the world, meaning he could restock just about anywhere on the road), which was slippery, lasted forever, and got absolutely the fuck everywhere, hence the need for the towel. The sugary cherry scent had initially reminded him of strip clubs, but by now, his body was so conditioned to the smell that flipping the top was enough to make his head swirl with arousal.

            Sam was indulgent with the lube, slicking his cock with so much that it dripped over his balls and then down lower, drenching his perineum. With his free hand, he reached down to grip the curve of his left cheek and pull himself open so that the lube ran wetly over his hole. It was so good, he abandoned his cock to spread himself with both hands, the flesh of his ass filling his palms and his hole trembling with anticipation.

            “ _Fuck_ ,” he breathed, starting to lose himself in the feel of the cool air on all his sensitive skin. “Yessss….”

            He began carefully, with a touch so light it was almost nervous, like this was new to him all over again. Just a soft, circling press around his rim with the tip of one finger. He didn’t think of trying to push inside, he only relaxed with the knowledge that it would happen on its own.

            Sam inhaled sharply, one hand still clenching his cheek, as the first inch of his finger sank inward. He bit the corner of his bottom lip and forced himself to breathe, even when a brush over his prostate brought a moment of starry-eyed tunnel vision. Reminded himself that he could come like this, painful and fast, and not at all like what he had in mind for the night.

            He squeezed another coat of lube on his fingers and continued opening himself up with obscenely slick little noises. The towel was soaked now with syrupy fluid, the feel of it just on the right edge of dirty. Teasing motions from before had no place here; Sam worked his hole with quick, purposeful thrusts, adding another finger before it was strictly comfortable to do so and groaning at the burn.

            The rush of blood swelling his cock up against his belly felt far away now. His world centered in on where he was stretched wide and sloppily wet, rim sensitive where he rubbed it with his thumb.

            “Mmmm….more,” he gasped, taunting himself with his whimpery tone, even as he knew he would deny his body what it so desperately craved. Not yet.

            Sam’s cock jerked with the motions of his finger-fucking, dribbling clear strands of hot pre-come across his abs. He was a vision of depravity, all sweaty skin and heaving breaths as he filled himself up wetly. Mindless to desire, he pressed in a third finger and dragged his teeth over his own shoulder to stifle his scream.

 

 

            It had all started with Amelia.

            Sam was sitting on the edge of bed while she sucked him off one morning, their clothes still tangled in formless piles and the air heavy from last night. She added the most _spectacular_ little twist with her tongue, laving up and down his rapidly leaking slit, and just as Sam was tossing his head back and moaning his approval, one of her slender fingers curled underneath his body, gently breaching his virgin hole.

            The sensation – new and satisfying and fucking _perfect_ – had been so startling he’d come right then and there, Amelia smiling wickedly around the mouthful of his release.

            From then on, Sam was hooked.

            He requested encore performances the whole time they were together, and after they weren’t, he’d Googled “prostate stimulation” and learned to do it himself, learned to do it even better. His own thick fingers filled him up so well that during his first, tentative run while Dean was out questioning some small town police chief, he’d almost blacked out with the force of his orgasm. He came under cheap printed comforters, braced against cracked porcelain sinks, and finally, in the comfort and security of his very own bedroom, challenging himself to greater depth and force each time, escaping the harshness of their world for these moments of incredible pleasure.

            Unfortunately, the personal challenge of _more_ reached a limit for Sam. When three fingers up his ass became more frustrating than arousing, he panicked, certain he’d worn off the thrill. He spent a few weeks resentfully stroking his cock before a most unexpected salvation arrived.

            This time, Dean got to stay behind to do “research” (he and Cas had gotten together by now, putting serious doubt on the productivity of his alone time), while Sam went out to man the field work. The suspect was a middle-aged housewife. A bona-fide witch as it turned out, and she knew he was tailing her. Sam was treated to a whirlwind tour of town as she tried to shake him: the grocery store, DMV, Arby’s, all so normal and boring he found himself running on auto-pilot until he followed her minivan to a discreet concrete building and waited a minute before forcing himself in after her.

            He’d known where they were immediately, but hadn’t quite believed it. There were racks of spangly, neon lingerie. Glossy DVD cases. Rows and rows of candy-flavored lube. Pervy looking dudes. Fake dicks and tits and asses. Sam had survived demon blood, hell-hounds, and soulnessness only to end up with a PTA mom trying to lose him in a sex shop.

            Blinking at the shock and the bright, industrial lighting, he’d kept mostly to the sides of the store, playing the part of a businessman on lunch. The witch considered a tiny maid’s uniform, going so far as to step into a backroom to try it on. Ignoring the greasy clerk behind the counter and being ignored in return, Sam wandered into the toys and picked up the odd box or device at random.

            That was when he saw it.

            It was big, black, and utterly beautiful. Hefty enough to need a freakin’ _handle_ , crowned with a blunt tip the package bragged was over seven inches in diameter. Smooth silicone and ten vibrating patterns. To top it all off, the toy boasted the most compelling evidence Sam had ever seen for the universe having a sense of humor. Written in bold letter across the box was the name of the monstrosity: The Colt.

            He paid in cash, sliding the bills across the counter like he was getting away with something (the clerk just gave him a knowing smirk along with the wadded-up ones of his change), and stashed it in the bottom of his duffel. For two days, he’d been unable to look Dean in the eye, but the awkwardness of having actually bought himself a dildo was worth it because on the drive back home, he’d felt every rattle and bump of the road with torturous sensitivity, the motion battering into his tender rim making him wince and smile to himself in equal turn.

           

 

            Sam writhed against the mattress, pillows and blanket tangled near his head, mussing his still-wet hair. He tried to switch up the patterns of his fingers, alternating deep thrusts with scissoring them back and forth, but just as often he lost himself to messy plunges, all rhythm forgotten. His mind was flooding with the hazy desire for _more_ , more stimulation, more depth, more stretch, more anything to push him toward finishing, he just needed _fucking_.

            The Colt’s ribbed handle was heavy and reassuring in his hand. Sam pulled out completely to appreciate it, even though it left him feeling desperately empty. His hole clenched around nothing, leaking out a trickle of lube as he ran his hand over the velvety finish, stroking the bulbs of the shaft like he would his cock.

            “I want it,” he murmured, once again just to hear the dark timber of his desire. “In me…I need it inside of me. I want it so fucking bad, _please_.”

            Sam’s knees spread further, as wide as they’d go, his whole body begging now to be filled. His stomach jumped as he finally pressed the head to his swollen rim, pushing just hard enough that it sank inside at a tauntingly-slow pace. Even with all his preparation, the first, biggest knot of the toy reduced him to open-mouthed panting and tears at the corners of his eyes, the pressure against his prostate almost too much. But then it slipped in further, stretching every inch of him wide and wet, until the hilt and his shaking right hand were flush against his ass.

            Sam started by just rocking himself up and down on the shaft, the action all in his hips, before graduating to shallow, bouncing thrusts. He held his balls to the side with his free hand and thumbed at the delicate skin while he worked up to proper fucking, easing the Colt out so that only the largest bulb was caught inside and then driving it back in with a low grunt. His rim was already overstimulated, fluttering around the intimidating girth and twitching greedily as it was filled again and again.

            Sometimes Sam flipped over to brace himself on his knees and one forearm, face pressed to the mattress, cock swaying as he reached back to work the toy from behind. Sometimes he brought it with him to the shower, challenging himself to stay upright under the water’s stream and collapsing against the slick walls as he came. But it was like this, flat on his back, that he could fuck himself the hardest, his sweaty back sticking to the sheets and his legs burning with the effort of holding his body’s tiny involuntary thrusts against the Colt, trying to draw it even deeper.

            When he found himself gripping the outside of his thigh, pulling himself wide open to the onslaught, and every thrust punched a breathless gasp from his throat, Sam knew he’d been waiting long enough. Pausing, he fumbled with the buttons in his eagerness, cock flushed and throbbing in its sticky pre-come puddle, before he finally hit the on switch.

            The Colt sprang to life in his hand. Even though he’d done this countless times, Sam never could help the desperate moan that escaped him as the vibrations began. His loose hole felt hot and juicy as it pulsed along with the toy, the motion against his prostate almost punishingly intense. The Colt seemed even huger inside him now, but it was barely thirty seconds before he was slamming it back in and out, every spasm offering up impossible stretch and sensation.

            Sam couldn’t have stopped now if his own brother crashed into the room, French-kissing Cas while fighting off a whole bar mitzvah of werewolves. His free hand grabbed at all the feverish skin it could find, pulling fistfuls of hair from the roots, pinching his tight nipples, digging his fingers into the meat of his ass. He gave his poor cock a few wet strokes, but quickly let it fall back to his stomach. He didn’t need the touch to come, and was hell-bent now on forcing the limits of pleasure from his sloppy hole.

            With both hands, Sam angled the Colt so that it rut against his sweet spot every time and bucked wildly into the motion, back arching up off the bed, mewling sounds caught in his throat. His entire body was soaked with sweat, trembling hotly, and he knew he’d have to head straight back to the shower after he was finished, but that hardly mattered now when his toes were curling and his rim was aching and the vibrations were shaking him so deep he could feel them in his fuckin’ _lungs_.

            “God, fuck, _please_! ‘s good, yes, more…. _more_ ….nghhhh! Fuckfuckfuck, just need t-to…!”

            Sam’s breathy rambling escaped without his permission this time; his lust-ridden brain didn’t even register the words, and it was just one more thrust so hard he couldn’t breathe and he was coming with a strangled howl. Cum shot up his abs, his vision went black, and he didn’t even know what kind of noise he was making anymore as his inner muscles milked the Colt, massaging every once of pleasure through his tight, spasming hole.

            Shivers broke out across his skin as the aftershocks rocked Sam’s ass against the toy. He groped for the control buttons, moaning softly and dancing on the borderline between purest satisfaction and pain, before the vibrations stopped and he fell still. It was another few minutes before he’d cooled down enough to breathe without gasping, too fucked-out to move.

            Carefully, so exhausted he couldn’t be bothered to even open his eyes, he coaxed the Colt from his body. The silicone slid wetly out his hole, bulb by bulb, leaving it gaping and sore. Sam rolled the toy away to the edge of the bed. He gently fingered his swollen rim, drawing a few last sparks of arousal as he pressed at the raw, relaxed passage until the touch became too much. _Everything_ against his hot skin was too much – the wet towel still bunched under his ass, the night air cooling the sweat on his neck, the streaks of sticky cum on his belly – and so he just rested for a time, legs fallen out to the sides, hole throbbing slightly.

            It was good, but Sam knew another warm shower would really top off the evening, even if it did require getting out of bed. Playing messy was all fun and games until you fell asleep covered in your own spunk. He heaved himself upright, wrapped his hips in a blanket (the towel being way too gross now to reuse), and headed back to the bathroom, whistling. Boneless as he felt, he kept a sharp eye out in the hall, hoping the other two members of Team Free Will hadn’t also decided on a post-sex shower.

            It was only a matter of time before Dean realized his brother and his boyfriend had a tendency to limp in the exact same way after some nights, and Sam wanted to postpone that day as long as possible.

**Author's Note:**

> You bet your sweet ass, the Colt is absolutely a [real](http://www.lovehoney.com/product.cfm?p=31805) toy that you can own. Tell me that bad boy WASN'T made for our Sammy's beautiful butt.


End file.
